


A Visit from Hastur

by roguefaerie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon Nonbinary Characters, Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Fandom Giftbox 2020, Happy Ending, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Canon, Whump, Wings, feathers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefaerie/pseuds/roguefaerie
Summary: Crowley comes back to the bookshop and smells something that reminds him of home. His first home.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Fandom Giftbox 2020





	A Visit from Hastur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [De (Effie_Peletier)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effie_Peletier/gifts), [River_Song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_Song/gifts).



> Hi! Hopefully the gifting works, as in a previous exchange we noticed a gifting bug related to pseuds, so I want to make sure this ends up in your actual gifts on the archive! I hope you like this! Whether you wished for TV or book canon was not specified but I hope this rendition of Az and Crowley works for you!

Crowley parks the Bentley in front of the time-honored and much-beloved bookshop and is ready to head inside and upstairs to the flat they now share. Leaving the car he suddenly realizes that there’s a scent from home in the air--his first home, the one with all the demons and the bad color scheme to boot. 

It’s blood.

He smells blood.

It doesn’t have to be a lot of blood in order for Crowley to recognize the smell, but the idea of this smell here in exactly this place makes his eyes turn to yellow slits and anger course through him. 

He knows that Aziraphale wouldn’t hurt a fly, and that means that in all likelihood no matter how safe they have felt they are, someone has hurt Aziraphale.

Crowley races inside, following the scent all the way. Eventually there is a trail of feathers to guide him further. 

He feels sick, and he’s absolutely sure in this moment he’ll never let Aziraphale coax him into eating again.

“Angel!” he calls, and is rewarded with a muffled reply.

“Crowley? Oh, I do not feel well.”

When they’re finally together again, with the items Crowley fetched today still safely stored and forgotten in the Bentley, Crowley seethes at what he sees. 

“Your wing!”

“Oh, yes. Your, your friend, Has-- Hast-- The miserable one. He arrived and he had quite the knife with him, I suppose.”

“He is not my friend,” Crowley says resolutely. He doesn’t add the obvious--that he’s rather sure that Aziraphale is the first friend he ever had, and more besides. Now isn’t the time for soul searching.

The gash in Aziraphale’s wing is ghastly, truly a gaping wound.

“What will we do, Aziraphale? Can you heal yourself?”

“Maybe not quite yet, Crowley. The knife was-- well, you would know-- ah, I’m sorry, it’s just, I’m not thinking very clearly right now. But what do you know, indeed, Crowley, about weapons from….well, there?”

“I wasn’t a fighter,” Crowley says. “I was an ideas guy. You know.”

“The pranks,” they say together.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

Crowley gingerly touches the wound with both hands. And he thinks of fire, despite all his unfortunate incidents and accidents with the same stuff.

Under his touch he feels Aziraphale’s wound beginning to cauterize.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, not without pain in his voice. “I did know you would know what to do, my dear Crowley.”

Crowley hides his eyes so that Aziraphale can’t see the depth of how upsetting all of this is, but the wound itself does heal.

Aziraphale looks a little green and is definitely shaking, but he smiles weakly and says, “Now I suppose I can put the feathers back on,” and they start to grow in again as Aziraphale winces and hisses. Not without a “Thank you, my dear.”

“You’re welcome, Angel.”

“We really are a match made...well, somewhere.”

Crowley smiles despite whatever else he may be feeling. “I suppose a match made on earth, hm?”

“I think you’re right.”


End file.
